


The Curious Case of the Haunting of Apartment 127

by nataliarostova (sharonsnatalia)



Series: Tales of Spectres / the Ghost AU [1]
Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/F, Implied/Referenced Suicide, More tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-01-28 06:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12600592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharonsnatalia/pseuds/nataliarostova
Summary: Natasha Rostova expected more freedom when she moved into her new apartment. She did not expect to meet a ghost, become her best friend, and maybe something more?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I edited this but I know i missed stuff. Let me know if you catch any.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm still getting a hang of characterization so give me constructive criticism in the coments if you can.

Mary Bolkonskaya swallowed a bottle of pills nearly eight decades ago at the kitchen counter that Natasha would be eating breakfast at for however long she lived in the apartment. The suicide of Mary was well documented and had become a source of urban legend. She killed herself because of her father’s cruelty, they said. She killed herself because she was gay, others speculated. She killed herself because the man she loved died in the war, some thought. But her family kept her suicide note hidden from the prying eyes of the public. Most thought she was just a troubled girl who needed an escape from her reality. Even when her family of wealthy Russian immigrants would be accused of having communist ties some two decades later, and the press claimed she killed herself because she couldn’t stand the thought of being related to communists, they refused to give the real reason or to let anyone see the suicide note. 

It was believed Mary haunted the apartment she died in, the apartment she lived alone in as she waited for a husband who would never come back to return from war. Reports of her sobs were given from both tenants and neighbors, and dated back to 1947, five years after her death. Her family scoffed at the rumors of her ghost lingering, and they barked at whatever paranormal expert or journalist knocked at their doors. “Let her stay dead. Let us move on from a wound you will not let close.” Andrei Bolkonsky spat at anyone who asked about his sister following her death until he joined her in the cemetery. His attempts did anything to stop the conspiracies that circulated about his sister’s suicide. If anything, his attempts only fueled more people to look into the theories in the age of the internet. If he lived to see the age of internet, he might have driven himself insane and drank himself to the grave trying to stop the reddit page dedicated to Mary, and the hundreds of hours that were spent dissecting every aspect of her death.

She rarely appeared outside of the apartment but, at times, she wandered the halls of the apartment building. While she rarely interacted with people, she would sometimes stop to comfort a crying child or simply show a child kindness, like she did in life with her nephew. In most cases, she appeared in a black, long-sleeved gown that trailed on the floor.

Then, Natasha decided to exit out of the Buzzfeed Unsolved video and order take out. While she waited for her Lo Mein to be delivered, she called Sonya. 

“Sonya, the internet thinks my apartment is haunted.” She whispered into the phone, hoping   the ghost couldn’t hear her if she whispered.

Sonya sighed on the other end of the phone. “The internet also thinks the moon landing was faked, and that our family is secretly attempting to make the United States into a communist nation because Uncle did not cover up his accent enough during a speech at a charity event.”

Natasha huffed. “There are pictures of the ghost!” 

After a brief pause, where Natasha imagined Sonya massaged the bridge of her nose, Sonya spoke, “There are photos of this ghost? Perhaps they were faked?”

“Sonya, cousin dearest, you must believe me when I say my apartment is haunted.”

“Please, calm down. I’m sure it is nothing.”

“Would you come over and stay the night with me.” Natasha begged.

“Of course.” Sonya’s tone softened and her words lost the edge of annoyance from before. 

After hanging up the phone Natasha called and amended her order from the Chinese takeout place. Now, all that was left was to wait. 

Despite the suffocating early August heat and the sweat that clung to her neck and brow, a chill ran down her back Fear crept to the forefront of her mind. In an attempt to distract herself from  _ theghostthatwasprobablygoingtokillher,  _ she sat down on her couch, huddled inside a cocoon of blankets, and peaked her head out to watch TV.

The floorboards creaked and Natasha burrowed herself further under the covers. She tried to convince herselfit was nothing. “The apartment is old. Old floor screak.” She whispered that she managed to calm her nerves. Staring at the TV screen, she tried to focus on the movie playing on it. 

A knock pulled her attention away from the TV. She tensed. Eyes wide with fright, she pulled out her phone and texted Sonya.

[sent, 5:57 pm; To Sonya]: Please tell me that was u

[sent, 5:57 pm; To Sonya]: If that wasn’t u it was the ghost and I am going 2 die 

_ Bang. Bang.  _ Another knock.

[received. 5:58 pm; From Sonya]: It might’ve been the takeout delivery guy. I know you are fond of takeout.

Sonya’s suggestion calmed her a little bit. She stood up with the blankets still wrapped around her shoulders. Although afraid still, she crept to the door and opened it a little. After a brief pause, she looked through the door’s small, open space. 

The man she saw was decidedly not a ghost, certainly not a ghost from the 1940’s who wandered the halls of the apartment building showing kindness to children. In fact, he looked like an twenty-something with little will to live in a t-shirt from the Chinese takeout restaurant Natasha ordered her take out from. Grease had long accumulated in his hair and the dark color of his hair was a stark contrast to his pale complexion. He held a bag of take out. He had dark bags under his eyes that somehow conveyed he was working multiple jobs to pay off the enormous weight of a college education.

Of course, Natasha knew very little about ghosts and the man (he seemed more like he was on the cusp between boy and man, but man would work for now.) in front of her seemed pale enough to be a ghost. She debated his eyes—they were lifeless, almost, and blank, as if they had never been able to convey human emotion in his life, in the very least since his first year of high school. She’d ask Marya later. He seemed, mostly, to be solid, and no light passed through him. He was alive, she decided and opened the door wider. 

“Order for Rostova?” He said. His tone betrayed no emotion, except, perhaps, an emotion that was yet unnamed but expressed a disdain for life and a carving for the relief of death and an eternity in the void.

She nodded. “I’ll just go get my wallet.” As soon as she finished thesentence, she dashed to the kitchen table and grabbed her wallet. Once she arrived back at her door, she held out a twenty and a five. “It was twenty three, right?”

The man stared blankly. Natasha assumed that was a yes when traded the money for the bag of food he carried.

“Keep the change.” Natasha smiled, grabbed the food, and pushed the floor closed.

[sent, 6:04 pm; To Sonya]: U were rite it was the takeout

She placed the take out on the counter and grabbed two plates. After she placed the plates on the counter, she pulled out her phone to text Sonya.

[sent, 6:05 pm; To Sonya]: When are you gonna get here?

Waiting for a reply, she grabbed the two containers out of the bag and dumped the food in the containers onto the plates. For a moment, she considered if she sacrificed some of the takeout,  the ghost might spare her. She pulled out a smaller plate, scrapped some of the food from both plates onto it, and placed the third plate in the microwave. Tentatively, she yelled, “Please, eat the takeout instead of killing me.”

Her phone beeped and pulled her attention away from her impending doom via the ghost of Mary Bolkonskaya. 

[received, 6:08 pm; From Sonya]: I’m entering the building as I type.See you soon!

Relief washed over Natasha. She relaxed a bit, but was still on edge because of the possibility a ghost lived with her and was plotting to murder her—and face no consequences over her actions because you can’t arrest a ghost. At least, sheassumed you couldn’t arrest a ghost.

It was quiet enough that Natasha could hear the faint sound of steps outside her apartment over the sound of the TV. Never had she been one for religion, as a child she found the long masses too boring for her to come away with any love or appreciation for religion, but she prayed it was her cousin. 

Somewhere down the hall that headed to her bedroom and the bathroom, Natasha heard a door slam. She froze and tension in her shoulders left her arms rigid and bent above her waist. Then, she accepted her fate. She accepted a ghost was going to kill her andpoor Sonya would find her body and two plates of cold Chinese takeout. Her mother would sob over her casket, and Pierre would nearly drink himself to death after he attended the funeral, probably during the funeral. Marya would assign her students more homework in hopes of giving herself more work to distract her from her grief, and they would curse Natasha for dying. 

A knock on the front door distracted her from her thoughts about her impending doom at the hands of the ghost. She walked to the door and yelled. “Sonya, is it you?”

“Yes, it is me, cousin dearest.” Sonya said through the door, a smile evident in her voice.

Natasha threw the door open, then threw her arms around Sonya. “Thank you for coming.” She buried her hair in Sonya’s hair. “I was certain I would die any moment. Oh, Sonya, why did no one warn me I was moving into a haunted apartment? It’s dreadful, positively dreadful.”

Sonya smoothed Natasha’s hair, “I’m sure no one knew your apartment was rumored to be haunted.  No one knows anything without Marya finding out, and I am positive Marya would’ve warned you, probably even tried to stop you from moving in.” 

She untangled herself from Natasha and took a few steps inside the apartment. Once she was inside the apartment, she turned around and closed the door. Turning back to face Natasha, she placed her hands on her shoulders. “Would you like to eat and watch cheesy movies on Netflix?”

Beaming, Natasha said, “I have plenty of snacks in addition to the takeout. We can have a feast.”

At around nine, they ended up with two bag of chips between them, empty plates in front of them, and various sweets on the coffee table in front of them. At seven, they had ordered more takeout and the empty containers were scattered on the coffee table. A movie played on the TV, but both girls were more interested in having a conversation rather than paying attention to the movie playing.

“Tell me more about this girl you met.” Natasha leaned forward on the couch. “You can’t just tell me you met someone and then not give me any details about her.” She pouted.

On her end of the couch, Sonya laughed and crimson crept onto her pale cheeks. “There is not much to say. I met her at the coffee shop. We talked and had coffee.”

Exasperated, Natasha said, “What was her name? What does she look like? Did you get her number?” She paused, and excitement shone in her dark eyes. Then, she asked, “Are you going to see her again?” With each question, she perked up more.

Giving into her cousin’s pleas for answers, Sonya said, “Her name was Elise. She was tall and pretty and had the most beautiful eyes in the world. I did get her number. I think we are probably going to hang out more but we are talking and flirting right now. Nothing more.”

Natasha giggled and wrapped an arm around Sonya. “I’m so happy for you, cousin.”

Ten minutes later, as they watched the ending of the movie, Natasha reached forward to grab her cup from the coffee table. When her hand didn’t wrap around the cup, she scanned the table looking for it. She frowned when she couldn’t find it.

“Have you seen my cup have you?”

“Maybe I grabbed it by mistake last time I might dishes in the sink.”

“Of course.” She doubted that was the case.

When Natasha woke up in the morning, Sonya was missing from her spot beside Natasha on the couch. Her blanket was folded nearly at the foot of the couch. The TV was turned off and the dishes that were scattered on the coffee table were washed and drying beside the sink. The trash that accompanied the dishes on the coffee table last night were in the trash can. A note in Sonya’s cursive handwriting sat at the corner of the coffee. 

Natasha grabbed her phone and checked the time, it was 10:27 AM. She grabbed the note off the table. 

It read:  _ Had an 8 AM shift at the flower shop. I cleaned up before I left. See you soon, Natasha! -Sonya _

A frown spread across her lips. She considered calling Pierre and asking him to spend the day with her. But she was sure he was busy with schoolwork, work he would drop the second he heard Natasha’s ringtone. She could call Marya but the superstitious older woman was more likely to convince Natasha to move back to her brother’s apartment than help distract her from the ghost. Speaking of her brother, none of her siblings were available for her to ask to spend the day with. 

So, she was alone. Alone with thoughts of the ghost that haunted her apartment and of her intentions. Thoughts swam around in her mind. Eventually, they became too much and she sat at the breakfast counter with her laptop in front of her. Once again, she typed Mary Bolkonskaya into the search bar. She clicked on the 4th article. It was titled  _ Mary, the Friendly GhostBorn on Christmas Day, 1912, Mary Bolkonskaya lived a private life. Though, this was probably not by choice as, even when her father was well, he tried to limit her social interactions, and she was generally unsocial. Some attribute her behavior to her father’s rules, her general personality, or the various oddities of her person. In the aftermath of her brother’s wedding, many articles cited it was a miracle any of the Bolkonsky’s married and expressed doubt Mary would ever marry. _

_ In 1939, she became engaged to a business associate of her brother. Despite the nature of the marriage being arranged, it seemed to the public the two were in love. However, some speculated it was a marriage of convenience. Both parties were rumored to be homosexual but a marriage between the two would keep them both safe from suspicion of breaking the New York sodomy laws of the time.  _

_ Shortly after their marriage, six months after their engagement, Mary’s husband went to war. In late 1942, he died in the war and Mary was left a widow. Her father arranged another marriage for her. She killed herself before she could remarry. After her suicide on Christmas day, the press gave many reasons she might have killed herself—she was too distraught from her husband’s death overseas; she was a lesbian and didn’t want to marry a man once again; she couldn’t handle anymore of her father’s abuse or caring for the grumpy man anymore. _

_ Of course, death doesn’t necessarily mean  someone is gone forever. Some live on in history books or in the memories of their loved ones. Others, like Mary, are rumored to not pass on, and remain in this plane of existence as ghosts. _

_ In the time before the internet, the rumors of Mary staying on earth as a ghost were just as abundant as they are now Paranormal experts studied her case and came to the conclusion she was still in her apartment. Her former neighbors and new tenants claimed at night they could hear the sobs of Mary, ever-grieving her lost husband. She was labeled the Desolate Widow. _

_ Children who live in and visit the building claimif they are upset, Mary appears to them and comforts them. Experts theorize this is because Mary raised her nephew herself while her brother dealt with the trauma of losing his wife and went to war himself and,despite never having children, the few journal pages her family has released to the public show evidence  she wanted children.  _

_ In the decades since her death, there has never been a report of Mary harming any individual in her former apartment or in the building. Inhabitants of apartment 127 claim , while the spirit of Mary is restless, often causing noises and the occasional missing object, she never attempted to harm them, like one might assume a ghost would. They state  they rarely saw Mary at all, rather she remained hidden throughout most of the time they lived there. _

_ The internet has given rise to more theories about the death of Mary and her existence as a ghost. Theories about the cause of her suicide have largely remained the same, but some seem to think she was instead murdered. They cite the possible soviet ties  her family had and claim she was murdered by soviet agents because her family had abandoned the communist commitment they made when they fled Russia in 1914 to preserve their wealth. The main hole in this theory is that the Bolkonsky’s are a massively wealthy family and went on to prosper under the economic system in the United States that favored the wealthy. _

_ Along with theories he was murdered, theories her suicide was caused by her alleged lesbianismare more and more common among online circles—even if her family continues to deny them.  _

_ Why Mary died and whether or not she haunts her former apartment building remains a mystery and a much talked about one, at that. _

Natasha closed her laptop. In the very least, she wasn’t going to be murdered by the ghost anymore anytime soon. She stood up and returned to her seat on the couch. Then, she noticed something.

The missing cup from last night was on the table.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha learns that maybe the ghost isn't that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please call me out when I mess up with commas. I'm terrible with commas. I have people to help me edit this but I edited it myself in favor of publishing this sooner. All mistakes are mine so don't hesitate to call me out on them.

Natasha stared at the cup in front of her. Everything about it was the same, right down to its position on the coffee table. The orange pop from last night was still in it, and there was not so much as a scratch on it. For a moment, she stopped breathing. Once again, fear invaded her thoughts. A ghost that wasn’t going to kill her was still a ghost. A ghost was a ghost was a ghost. The ghost could still be a threat.

Cautiously, she grabbed the cup. Walking towards the sink, she dumped the pop into the sink. Then, she threw the cup in the trash. It was a simple yellow cup that lacked any standout details and any sentimental attachment. She threw the cup.

Glancing around the room, she noted the boxes that lined the wall nearest to the windows.Given that she spent most of the last night terrified of the the ghost or distracting herself with movies and Sonya’s company, she hadn’t unpacked much more than what she had needed to use last night.  In fact, she had only unpacked a few cups and plates for dinner, a few blankets and pillows, and a few scattered pictures of her and her family.  But unpacking could offer her a much needed distraction from the ghost and her shenanigans, she hoped.

She walked over to a stack of boxes. The top one was labeled

Carefully, she lifted the box and carried it to the kitchen counter. She unpacked ceramic plates and novelty mugs that Sonya gifted to her over the years for nearly every occasion she could think of. Each mug has a story behind it. They ranged from happy to sad, but she looked fondly back at Sonya’s attempts at comforting her and preserving the many memories they shared together , no matter how solemn the memories attached to some of them were, . From the Valentine’s Day Natasha caught her boyfriend cheating on her to the first birthday party Sonya threw her after they moved out of the Rostov estate in Upstate New York and into the city for college. She placed the mugs in the bottom and middle shelves of the cupboard closet to the sink. She left one, a simple mug Sonya got her for no apparent reason other than wanting to give her a gift, on the counter, and, then, started a coffee pot.

Next, she unpacked a set of tableware. When she announced she would be getting her own apartment, Marya had insisted she take her shopping for house supplies. Marya insisted she buy matching sets of tableware during the shopping trip.

The plates were a middle value of turquoise with white flowers in the center with white vines stretching over the edge of the plate onto the bottom. While the bowls were the same color, they lacked the vines of the plates. Instead, they had similar flowers to those on the plates, but they were on the outside of the bowl. Marya made sure she bought matching mugs, as well. The design of the mugs abandoned the flowers, and brought back the vines  from the plate. White vines wrapped around the mugs handle and lead inside the mug. Inside the mug, they branched out and spiraled downwards until reaching the base of the mug. The silverware was much less ornate than the tableware, despite Marya’s protests. They were simple, silver, and with plain, patternless handles.

Once she finished unpacking and organizing the tableware and silverware, she grabbed the pillows and blankets off the couch and walked down the hall to her bedroom. She pulled open the door and reached into the room and turned the light on.

Sunlight peeked in through the curtainless windows, softer than the harsh,  yellow light of the ceiling light. The room was bare except for the dresser that was against the wall to the right of the door right before the closet and the mattress, bed set, and the nightstand bedside table to the left of the bed that was against the wall directly across from the door. Her mattress had sheets on it but she had yet to make her bed with the bed set and the extra pillows and blankets. The lilac walls were as bare as the bed. A few nails, used by the previous tenants to hang pictures on the wall, stood out against the light color of the walls. To the right of the door, the wall jutted forward and a  sliding door on that wall separated the closet from the room. Like in the living and kitchen area, stacks of boxes, this time containing the clothes that Natasha couldn’t fit in the duffel bag and various other stuff that would be stored in her bedroom.

Walking over to the boxes, she opened the box that housed her comforter. She tossed the comforter onto her bed. Then, she walked over to a few other boxes and pulled out her pillows and various other blankets. She threw them onto the bed with the comforter. Despite the inevitability of the universe’s entropy making the the bed back into the state of disarray it was in, she made the bed.

Then, she unpacked her clothes. The more expensive and lavish articles went into the closet, along with her jackets. From satin to velvet, her taste in fashion ran expensive. It was par for the course when you were expected to go to numerous fancy parties because of your family's social status and wealth. Her sense of style was undoubtedly an effect of growing up rich, She put her everyday wear into the dresser, which was once as lavish as her other clothing but college has toned down the extravagance of her everyday outfits.

Next, she unpacked a few pictures of her and Sonya, and placed them on the nightstand. Many knick knacks and pictures were still in the box. She made a mental note to go and buy some more furniture for her bedroom.

After that, she went back to the living-kitchen area. She grabbed another box, this one labeled

Opening the box, she found a plethora of barely touched movies since the age of Netflix. Nonetheless, she unpacked the movies and put them on the shelf beside the TV. She wasn’t sure what box she had packed the DVD player in, but if she found it soon maybe, next time Sonya was over to distract her from the ghost, they could watch movies using the DVD player for the sake of it.

Behind her, the coffee maker beeped. Before she had the chance to turn around and walk to the pot, she jumped at the sound of glass shattering behind her.. She turned to the mug shattered on the floor. Frozen in fear, she stared at the pieces of the green ceramic mug.

Fear crept into her mind. It had to have been the ghost, and she had gone from simply making cups disappear to breaking them. The ghost was friendly, the article she read claimed, and it cited the former tenants of the apartment and the complex that housed it as its sources.  However, breaking things was much more violent than simply moving objects and making them disappear. Would the violence escalate until Natasha was dead and possible haunting the apartment herself? Was that the ghosts plan? Her mind raced with thoughts of the ghost and whatever her reasons for haunting Natasha.

She walked back into her bedroom and changed quickly. After she changed, she rushed out of her room, grabbed her keys, and then hurried out of the apartment. Locking the door behind her, she went to the elevator and pushed the buttons for the lobby of the apartment building.

Once in the elevator, she pulled out her phone and texted Sonya.

[sent, 11:47 am; To Sonya]: Want to get lunch during your lunch break?

The elevator reached the lobby before Sonya texted her back. As she exited the elevator, she pulled her phone out once again, opened the map app, and typed in the address of Sonya’s flower shop into the search bar. When she exited the apartment complex, she immediately missed the air conditioning. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight.

Her phone beeped.

[received, 11:53 am; from Sonya]: Of course! Did you have a place in mind?

[sent, 11:53 am; to Sonya]: That cute little cafe a few blocks away from the flower shop?

[received, 11:54 am; from Sonya]: Sounds lovely, Tasha

Ten minutes later, she arrived at

She pulled open the glass door and the bell used to signal customers entering the shop rang.

The shop was small. Sonya had wanted something quaint and the storefront certainly counted as that. The exterior was white brick with flowers and vines painted on the space not taken up by the window on the center of the wall and the glass door to the right of the window. Above the window was a yellow awning.

Inside the shop, the walls were painted a pastel green and the shelves and stands that housed the flowers were the same shade of yellow as the awning. Recently, Sonya decided to expand the selection of plants she offered and the back right corner of the store housed a small nursery that was mostly succulents at the time being. About six feet away the door, a white counter sat. Behind the counter was a staircase that led up the storage space and workshop that Sonya occasionally crashed in if she had the closing shift.

At the sound of the bell, Sonya looked away from the customer  who was placing an order. She offered Natasha a smile before turning her attention back to the customer.

While Sonya tended to the customer, Natasha wandered the aisles of the flower shop. She looked at the violets that lined the shelves closest to the windows. Some of them were in the classic violet color that gave the flower it’s name. However, Sonya had much more than the common

Yellow violets, blue violets, white violets, and bicolor violets in yellow and blue, and white and blue joined the more common violets. Even a few pansies, members of the

genus, were bundled on the same shelves.

She reached forward and grabbed half a dozen yellow violets and half a dozen white violets. WIth the violets carefully secured in her grasp, she made her way further down the aisle.

Flowers of all species and genuses adorned the shelves. They were organized by genus.

and a number of other genuses were grouped off by shelf with little tags stating the scientific and common names of the flowers contained within them.

She turned down the next aisle. Instead of taking a look at the multitude of flowers, she glanced down the aisle and at Sonya and the customer she worked with. She walked down the aisle and stood in line behind the customer.

As Sonya finished up with the customer, she scribbled a date and phone number onto the order slip. After slipping the order slip into the binder where she kept orders until she digitalized them, she waved goodbye as the customer exited the shop.

Natasha took a few steps forward and placed her flowers on the counter. “Ring my flowers up, please, dear cousin.” She held out her credit card. “Then we can go out and get lunch.”

After accepting the credit card and entering the flowers into the cash register, Sonya said, “I’ll go get a vase. I assume you plan to come back and get the flowers after lunch?”

Natasha nodded.

Grabbing the flowers, Sonya disappeared up the stairs into the storage room. A few minutes later, she returned with a translucent pink vase filled with an appropriate amount of water and the violets arranged in them. She placed the vase under the counter.

Sonya walked out from behind the counter. Walking to the door, she flipped the sign from open to closed. She pushed the door open and held the door open for Natasha.

Only a few steps behind her, Natasha exited the shop and held her arm out for Sonya to take it. While Sonya locked the store up, Natasha waited patiently. She tapped her foot on the pavement.

After Sonya looped her arm with Natasha’s, they walked down the street and turned left. They walked as closely together as possible. Their footsteps synced as they walked. The walk to the cafe turned out to be uneventful.

Once they arrived the at cafe, Natasha ordered an iced coffee with more sugar than a person might need in a month and a chicken spinach wrap. Sonya ordered tea and a bowl of tomato soup. After getting their food and drinks, they found a free table to sit at.

When they were nearly finished with their meals, Natasha spoke abruptly, “Sonya, the ghost broke broke one of my coffee mugs.”  Speaking quickly, she continued, “Is this a sign the ghost will get more violent? It’s only been one day. How long before the ghost gets truly violent towards me? I’m frightened and terrified that the ghost might have more sinister plans than the internet seems to think. She’s supposedly non-violent, but if that’s the case, why break my coffee mug?”

No matter how convinced Natasha was of a ghost haunting her apartment, Sonya remained skeptical about the likelihood ghosts were real, let alone one haunted her cousin’s apartment. However, Sonya never learned to be anything other than kind and good to Natasha, her cousin who had become closer to a sister than a cousin over the childhood they spent together.

Rather than voice her disbelief, she asked, “Could you tell me what exactly what happened?” She tilted her head to the left.

“Oh, Sonya, it was awful. I was so frightened.” Natasha sighed dramatically.  “She broke that cute, little, green mug you bought me. I set it on the counter while the coffee maker was running and I unpacked my DVDs while I waited and then the coffee maker beeped and suddenly the mug fell on the floor and shattered. Never have I been more frightened in my life.”

“It might’ve just fallen, Natasha.” Sonya offered. “Not everything has a supernatural effect.” She said in an attempt to reassure her cousin. “I’m sure everything that has happened has a perfectly mundane explanation.”

“It all seemed too frightening to be boiled down to some mundane reason.” Natasha sighed. “I hope you are right. A haunted apartment might be too much for me to handle.”

The days after Natasha and Sonya had lunch proved to less eventful on the ghost front than Natasha’s first days in the apartment. No more cups broke and nothing disappeared for more than a few hours. However, Natasha noted that her cups and other items continued to disappear for hours at a time, doors slammed at random, and the TV would sometimes turn on and off at random. If it didn’t terrify her, she would’ve grown used to the routine things the ghost did.

A few days after the lunch, Natasha lounged on the couch under a blanket and watched

for the third time that day, having already watched

too many times to consider watching it again for another week. Sporadically, she texted Pierre to either complain about the movie or to update him on the ghost’s shenanigans. For the latter, he did his best to reassure her. Texting Pierre served as a better distraction than most everything else she did to distract herself.

She yawned and stretched. Nestling further into the couch, she pulled the blanket higher up onto her shoulders. Her eyes drifted closed and minutes later, she knew only the darkness of a dreamless sleep.

Hours later, at around 2 am, Natasha woke up. Groaning, she reached over and felt around for her glass of water. When her hand came up empty, she pushed herself. But, when she galanced at the coffee table, her eyes locked not on her glass of water but, rather, a pale hand with a slight glow that was grabbing one of the violets.

Her gaze went from the hand up to shoulders clothed in black lace to the person’s face. This had to be the ghost of Mary Bolkonskaya. In the moment, she couldn’t bring herself to be afraid of the ghost with the beautiful and gentle profile. She stared for a while, stared at the ghost’s hair, cheeks, lips. Of course, then, the reality of the situation sunk in and she was significantly less okay with the fact that it was 2 am and a ghost was sitting at the end of her couch.

Natasha blinked and said, “It’s you! You are the ghost that everyone said was haunting my apartment. Oh, God.” Fear leaked into her words as she spoke.

Until that moment, the ghost had been unaware that Natasha was awake and watching her. She dropped the flower and the scissors she was using to trim the stems of the violets. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Her eyes left Natasha and settled on a spot on the floor. “I didn’t really mean for you to see me at all.”

“I just wanted to properly take care of the flowers. Violets were always my favorite. They are such a beautiful flower.” The ghost rambled.

But Natasha continued to just stare at her. She made no move to speak. Instead, she pulled her knees closer to her chest. Sonya might’ve laughed at her in that moment, at Natasha, who always seemed to talk at the speed of light, simply staring silently at the ghost she spoke endlessly about.

The ghost stopped talking and her eyes met Natasha’s once more. They stared at each other. Suddenly, after hearing her ramble about violets, the ghost seemed less frightening than she had previously.

After a few minutes, Natasha spoke up, “I’m Natasha.”

“I’m Mary.” The ghost—Mary—introduced herself.

“I know.” After a brief pause, Natasha continued, “You broke my mug.”

Mary blushed, the red particularly noticeable against her pale skin. “The coffee maker beeped. It scared me. I’m not really used to technology.”

Natasha nodded. “You frightened me more times than I can count this week.” She pulled her knees against her chest. “I almost moved out as many times.”

“I’m sorry. It gets very lonely, sometimes. I just wanted to be around you.” The blush on Mary’s cheeks deepened and she quickly amended her statement. “I just wanted to be around someone. Not you in particular.”

“Then why slam doors? Why take my stuff?”

“The doors weren’t on purpose. With the stuff, I just wanted to learn more about you. I couldn’t talk to you.”

Moonlight peeked in through the windows as they spoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My birthday is the 11/19 so comment and leave kudos as a birthday gift, pls.


	3. Chapter 3

“What’s it like to be a ghost?” Natasha laid upside down on the couch, staring at the yellow rug that Sonya got her and she couldn’t bear to throw away, even if it was hideous. No one had ever taught her to bite her tongue and not ask every question that came to mind. If they had, she had forgotten the lesson as soon as the person stopped giving it.

Mary paused. For a few moments, she stared at the play screen repeating on the television, her face expressionless. “It feels like nothing a lot of the time. It feels like I don’t exist.” Another pause. “I’m dead but not dead enough for it to matter. I’m still stuck here.”

It was nearing five a.m. and the sun had started coloring the sky pastel blues, oranges, and reds. Sleep tugged at Natasha’s eyelids, but Mary intrigued her too much for her to consider sleeping.

She yawned and failed to respond to Mary’s answer. After a certain point, things stopped making sense. Time blurred, as did reality. The line between real and imagined thinned or maybe ceased to be. She’d read somewhere that after staying up for so long you lost inhibitions, almost as if you were drunk. She made a mental note to ask Pierre if he ever convened with the dead when he got drunk (though she knew the demons he used the bottle to drown were much more metaphorical than the very real ghost sitting beside her on her couch).

The silence between them left the air thick and almost palpable. Like the August heat, it clung to Natasha’s skin and commanded all of her attention. Fifteen minutes passed before Natasha spoke again,  “There’s a Buzzfeed Unsolved episode about you.” She shrugged. “I watched it after I moved in.” During her panic that Mary would kill her, she had found solace in the idea that they might make a part two to the Buzzfeed Unsolved video if she died.

“Buzzfeed Unsolved?” Mary blinked. She faded as she she spoke, becoming less and less. Light from the TV passed through her, tinting her the colors that danced on the screen.

Natasha reminded herself that she spoke to a ghost who died decades before the internet was conceived. “Buzzfeed Unsolved. It’s a web series about the supernatural and true crime cases.” A yawn once more escaped her lips. “I never really got into it. Ghosts always freaked me out.” Her eyes drifted closed for a moment. “The true stuff wasn’t any better. I was, like, sure that a guy lived in my attic and was going to kill me after watching this one episode of it.”

“It was a supernatural episode. The internet likes ghost stories.” She hummed and pried her eyes open to look at Mary again. Somehow, she looked smaller upside down. She turned her gaze back to the yellow carpet. “You are pretty popular in ghost obsessed circles on the internet.”

Beside her, Mary nodded. She pulled her feet onto the couch. (Natasha would have asked her to take off her shoes if Mary wasn’t a barely-there ghost who probably didn’t track mud into the apartment.) “Am I? I’m not all that interesting.” Her voice sounded quiet to Natasha, but that seemed to be normal for her.

“All ghost stories are interesting to someone on the internet.” Natasha shrugged. Her shoulders bumped into the floor and she lost her balance. She caught herself before she tumbled off the couch. “Pierre thinks it’s because of humanity’s preoccupation with death and the afterlife. I think it’s because ghosts are both cool and creepy.” Then, she added, “You are the least creepy ghost I’d ever thought I’d meet.” For a few moments, Natasha thought of her many fears about Mary and ghosts in general.

Mary remained quiet. She shifted, the movement silent except for the faint sound of the fabric of her dress brushing against the couch. She folded her hands in her lap and stared at them, fiddling with her fingers. A quiet, “Okay,” escaped her barely parted lips.

“During the episode they never visited the apartment.” Without warning, Natasha changed the topic back to the Buzzfeed Unsolved episode. “Normally, they visit the locations, but the people who lived here didn’t give them permission to visit the apartment. So, they talked a lot about your past, a lot. It was formatted like a true crime episode.” She paused. “It was interesting.”

After she finished speaking, she pushed herself upright and curled up in a ball on her side, careful to avoid bumping into Mary. Could she even touch Mary? She wondered.

Mary could touch things, that much was evident by the broken coffee mug and the objects that disappeared during Natasha’s time spent in the apartment. But maybe touching and being touched required focus. If she reached over and pushed a stray hair behind Mary’s ear, would Mary feel it?

“I think you’re interesting.” Her eyes drifted closed. Sleep came to her in the form of a imageless darkness. Quiet snores escaped her lips.

Pink colored Mary’s pale cheeks. A slight smile curled up onto her lips.

Sunlight peeked in through the curtains as Natasha slept. It cast a warm light over the table near the windows, casting a dark shadow onto the parts of the hardwood floor that weren’t bathed in the same bright sunlight as the table. Bits of sun shined over the edge of the couch and warmed Natasha’s sleeping figure, highlighting the warm undertones of her dark brown skin. The arm of the couch offered some shade from the bright, shining sun and kept it from getting in her eyes and waking her up.

The TV still played the playscreen of _Beauty and the Beast_ and it cast multi-colored light on the coffee table. Despite the fact that the film still played on the TV, no sound came from it, the movie having been long since muted once the girls started talking the night before.

Mary was nowhere to be seen. No trace that she was even there last night existed. The pillows on the end of the couch were arranged in their original positions.

Sleep relaxed its grip on Natasha as the hands on the clock approached eleven a.m. Natasha’s phone rang and vibrated on the coffee table. With a groan, Natasha woke up and ignored the incessant ringing of her phone. She buried her face further into the pillow.

The phone stopped ringing. Seconds later, it resumed.

Natasha groaned once more and reached over to grab her phone. After she sat up, she glanced at the phone screen. A smiled edged itself onto her face when she saw a picture of Pierre’s quiet smile as the contact photo. The contact name read ‘Teddy Bear <3.’ She answered the phone and held it to her ear.

“Hello, Pierre,” she greeted him, tiredness clinging to her words. “It’s nice to hear from you. It feels like your studies have taken up most of your time lately.”

She met Pierre in her freshman year of college and his senior year. Despite having no classes together, they spent nearly every free second together. Hours were spent in the library, where they studied together despite the fact that they always had to study completely different subjects. When they weren’t studying, they were probably getting lunch or hanging out in Pierre’s apartment.

Now, Pierre spent more of this time studying and working towards his graduate degree when he wasn’t ignoring his problems, and Natasha tried to adjust to life on her own (albeit with the support of her parents’ coin) and distracting herself from the terror she often felt concerning the ghost.

“Hi, Natasha,” Pierre said, a smile evident in the lilt of his voice. Natasha imagined the gentle upturn of his lips. His tone shifted, taking a quality of quiet worry, “Did I wake you?”

A small laugh. “It’s okay, my dear Pierre. Marya was probably minutes away from calling to make sure I didn’t sleep the day away,” she assured him.

For a few moments, Pierre mulled over the thought for a moment. Then, he continued, “Still, I am sorry I woke you up.” Before speaking again, he paused. “There’s an environmental event in a few evenings. I assume you and Sonya are going?”

Natasha laughed. “Of course. My dear cousin cares about the environment more than most. Are you going?” A hint of hope tinted her words. While she knew that Pierre did his best to avoid the social activities that came with the wealth their family names' provided them, she hoped to see him there.

“Perhaps. I am not really sure if I want to.”  

She nodded, forgetting for a moment that Pierre couldn’t see her. “I still need to get a dress. Do you want to come dress shopping with me?” She paused., “It would be a nice opportunity to catch up.”

She closed her eyes and imagined his thoughtful gaze as he considered whether to go or to stay in and study.

A few moments passed before he answered, “That sounds lovely, Natasha.”

Beaming, she said, “Perfect. How about we meet in two hours outside the library at your school?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll see you then, Pierre.”

“Goodbye, Tasha.”

For a full minute, neither hung up and waited for the other to. Natasha listened to his breathing, an image of his crest rising and falling in her mind.  

In the end, Natasha hung up the phone. She walked to the kitchen table, set her phone on the counter and opened the fridge. The fridge was a barren landscape, akin to a desert after a nuclear apocalypse. A few containers of leftover takeout, leftovers that Marya sent her away with left time they met for dinner, and more leftovers from restaurants. A single carton of eggs sat on the top shelf next to a carton of milk and five different bottles of various pop brands. After she scanned the fridge, she sighed and grabbed a box of leftover pizza. She placed it on the counter and pulled out a plate and a glass from the counters. Placing two slices on the plate, she put the plate in the microwave, along with a small container of water to keep the crust from getting rubbery. She filled the glass up with water.

While she waited for the pizza to be heated up, Mary appeared behind her. “What are you making?” She asked.

“Reheating pizza,” Natasha said. She took a sip of her water and pushed herself up onto the counter. As she sat on the counter, she swung her legs back and forth. “I don’t really have anything to cook.  Not that I am the best at cooking, anyway." She shrugged.

“I could make you something,” Mary said, her voice quiet, even compared to how quiet she spoke the night before.

For a moment, Natasha considered the offer. Eating pizza for breakfast everyday wouldn’t do anything for her health, but so far, she enjoyed the independance to eat pizza everyday for breakfast and conceded that felt all too adult for her.

“No, I’m good. Do you want any pizza?” She tilted her head to the left and turned to face Mary. A few milliseconds after she asked, she furrowed her eyebrows. “Can you even eat? Do you need to eat? Like, I know you can interact with stuff, but how would eating work?”

While Natasha spoke, Mary stared at her. Light passed through her. Her opacity decreased with each word Natasha spoke?—not that Natasha noticed as she asked her questions. Barely there, Mary answered, “I haven’t really tried to eat. I don’t really need to.”

She wasn’t quite sure where she went when she wasn’t here sometimes. At times, she existed in the space and watched, watched Natasha, but she couldn’t will herself into being seen. Interaction with anything was hard then, but she could slam doors or make the odd thing disappear.

Natasha continued to talk. “Why would you offer to make something for me if you can’t eat?” she asked as the start of a new round of questions, but Mary heard only the buzzing of the microwave and the sound of her voice, all the words blurring together until she wasn’t able to make out a single one.

The microwave

beeped and pulled Mary back into reality. Suddenly, she seemed more there, and less light passed through her and hit the floor behind her. “Are you sure you don’t want me to make you anything?” She asked.

“Maybe later. I don’t even have anything you could use right now. Unless you want to make eggs. I have plenty of eggs. And plenty of takeout.” Natasha pulled the plate out of the microwave and took a seat at the counter.

While Natasha ate, the two sat in relative silence. An awkwardness settled between the two, at least Natasha thought so.

She ate her pizza.

Mary watched. She watched most of the time. In the decades since her death, she grew used to watching, always watching

“What was your husband like?” The question was sudden, and Natasha was mid-chew when she asked.

The internet was void of most on him. His name was missing from all the articles she found, and the Buzzfeed Unsolved episode only touched upon him. He died while he fought in a war. He married Mary months before he shipped off. He came from a family as rich as hers. The two never had any children. There was some debate if they consummated the marriage at all. Nothing else about him was deemed important by those attempting to benefit off the suicide of a young woman decades ago.

Mary looked far away, then. The almost content look on her faded and contorted into something on the edge of despair. She stared at the decorative plate, trying to follow one vine until its end. Finally, she spoke up. “He was my best friend.” A pause for nearly four seconds before she spoke again. “He was very kind and understanding. Truly, he was one of the best men I have ever met.”

Natasha nodded and waited for Mary to continue as she finished up her pizza.

A silence settled between them once more.

Standing up, Natasha placed her plate in the sink. “I need to go take a shower. See you later?”

Now, Mary nodded. Her head barely bobbed up and down. Then, she disappeared without another word.

After Mary’s nod and subsequent disappearance, Natasha walked down the hall and went into the bathroom. She opened the door, her hand wrapping around the golden handle, and for the first time since she moved in to the apartment, she didn’t fear that Mary would be on the other side of the door waiting to murder her.

The bathroom was down the hall, a few feet away from her bedroom. White and light blue tiles were partially hidden by a steel blue rug. The walls were a shade or two darker than the light blue of the tiles and various nautical symbol decals decorated the walls.

Taking a seat on the edge of the tub, she turned on the water and played with the dials until she got the temperature right. She stripped down and stepped into the shower. As the warm water cascaded down on her and relaxed her muscles—sore from a night spent on the couch—thoughts of Mary and her husband, who barely existed as a person in her mind, echoed through her mind and commanded all her attention.

**Author's Note:**

> This will be mulit chapter. However, I can not promise to stick to an update schedule as this is the first multi chapter thing i have done in years.
> 
>  
> 
> [Bug me](lesbianprincessmary.tumblr.com) on tumblr or below in the coments.


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